


We Need to Talk About Peggy (and Bucky)

by Weliany



Series: We Need to Talk About... [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Coffee, Deal With It, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Male-Female Friendship, Peggy has a cousin, Talking, canon compliant for most things, characters who are in a complicated relationship with the past, finding closure, post winter soldier, pre civil war, steve/bucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weliany/pseuds/Weliany
Summary: This is the story of two people who haven't seen each other for a long time and who have more in common what they used to think. This is the story about how hard it is to deal with the present when one hasn't make their peace with the past....When Steve is a push-over and Abby a little shit.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/ Peggy Carter (mentioned)
Series: We Need to Talk About... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679239
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	We Need to Talk About Peggy (and Bucky)

Abernathy – Abby – Carter wakes up dripping with sweat, her hair glued to her forehead and cheeks. She had that dream again. The one where she died a gruesome death, having her stomach punctured by a harpoon. Who still uses a harpoon these days? She wondered as she crumbled to the ground, her guts out in the open and her hands drenched in blood.

The light blue sheet is so wet that she can’t tell it apart from her sore body. She tries to move but the ache is another nail on her coffin. “Bloody hell.” she grunts. There is nothing that doesn’t hurt. Even the tip of her hair seems pretty set on giving her a bad time today. In what world does hair hurt? That should be against all laws of nature.

After a while, she manages to lift the damp sheet, half-disgusted and half-tired. That’s when she glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh crap!” She bounces out of bed, immediately regretting such a bold and inconsiderate move.

Grunting and clenching her bruised fists, Abby drags her feet to the small bathroom to take a quick and – hopefully – soothing shower. She is already late as it is but she can’t show up to her meeting with Steve looking that shitty. He remembers me a certain way, Abby thinks as she pulls the shower curtain. A way that doesn’t involve bruises, nor scars. Her eyes fall upon the one that reminds her that playing with fire has a cost. Abby shivers. They patched her up pretty good that day but she’s never been the same since. Quite frankly she’s never been the same Abernathy since she first died in 1952.

Abby enters the shower, chasing the last remnants of her dream – vivid recollection of what actually happened really – and blesses the freezing cold water that rains over her bent back and washes the pain away. While she’s under the shower nothing else exists. It is just her and the water running all over her body, but as soon as she gets out her legs quit on her, leaving her helpless on the white tiled floor. “Come on Abby. Get a grip.” She mutters between her teeth. She pulls on her trembling arm as she holds onto the side of the sink, with a low grunt. Once up, she grabs the silver pill box the doctor gave her, it is nearly empty.

Abby glares at the last three pills, the last three off buttons laying in the palm of her hand before throwing them all in her mouth. She doesn’t even take water. She just swallows them, counting the seconds until they begin working their magic. And she doesn’t have long to wait.

Her neck muscles are the first to relax, then the message goes lower until every other muscle is rid of knots and pain. Her bones ache less and less too, and the small fractures she has suffered from last night are already mending. On her skin bruises begin to fade away and soon Abernathy Carter looks like any other citizen. “Thank you science!” She grins at the reflection in the mirror, trying to find one smile that says ‘I am a young capable and cheerful woman who gets eight solid hours of sleep every night.’ As if, she bitterly thinks.

Abby leaves her hotel room, barely taking the time to close the door behind her. She is late and all that matters now is not being even _ more _ late. Captain America is never late, bloody wizard that one. Always right on time. So she runs through neighborhoods, and avoids a few cars as she recklessly crosses the streets. Red light. Green light. It matters not. She doesn’t see them. She sees only the path she is sprinting on to get to her destination. Abby jumps past a pet walker getting dragged by half a dozen dogs. The foot traffic is so busy that she prefers to get down the pavement and run alongside it, avoiding trash and poop in the gutter. She runs fast. Faster than she ever could when she was ‘ordinary’. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she thinks as she accelerates, and faster and unable to show up on time.

Abby turns right. If all is well, Steve should be right… “Here.” She comes to a full stop, catching a breath. This is a quiet neighborhood where people don’t run but rather leisurely walk by. There are benches every now and then where you can sit and enjoy the view where the greentree leaves lined up along the pavement accentuate the red bricks of the low buildings behind them. It is a lovely place made for families and quiet friends. A place where one should feel automatically safe. Almost as if at home. And for a second it feels like it.

Steve. He’s dressed exactly like someone who doesn’t want to be noticed, but he stands out in the crowd precisely because he tries to go unnoticed. Navy blue bomber jacket with a plain white shirt underneath and a pair of jeans with sensible footwear. He’s even wearing a cap that covers most of his short blond hair. Only the sunglasses are missing, to cover his inquisitive yet soft blue eyes.

He is waiting with a newspaper in his hands but his eyes keep wandering around. As an old white lady approaches, Steve straightens his back and holds his chin up. His spine becomes this perfect line perpendicular to his square shoulders. He’s about to give the old woman a polite nod, but she barely gives him any attention, and keeps on walking.

Steve sighs heavily, disappointment writing all over his face. For a couple of seconds, he pretends to be absorbed by some article in the newspaper, but every moving shadow at the corner of his eye draws his attention. Every old lady passing by makes him think : is this her? He is trying to imagine what Abby must look like now. She never bore much resemblance with her cousin Peggy, except in stubbornness maybe.

He fights against the urge to check his watch, not because he is annoyed that she’s running late but because he begins to worry. At her age, the smallest thing can become a serious threat and perhaps he should have insisted on meeting her at her place so she wouldn’t have to go through all the trouble of getting in town. But she had been pretty adamant in her emails that they should meet there, at this café downtown.

Another old woman passes him by. She gives him a polite smile as he looks at her but keeps on walking. Steve shifts on his legs. Despite being able to remain in position for hours, he is getting restless, dark thoughts and worries rotting his mind by the minute. His watch weighs more now than it did this morning and his wrist itches. Just a quick glance, he tells himself, maybe she’s just five minutes late. Or an hour because she’s fallen to her death down some stairs coming to you, tells another voice that resembles his own.

“Hey there caterpillar.”

Steve startles. Just a millisecond ago someone managed to sneak upon him and actually touched him lightly on the arm using a nickname he hasn’t heard in ages. And the voice that said this name had that same mischievous tone and smile. “Abby?” he hears himself say out loud before turning to see if it’s really her. And when he does, there she is. She’s standing in front of him, barely a few years older than the last time he saw her. In 1944. Not a thing about her has changed and for a brief moment, Steve is thrown back to a time that feels like yesterday.

He’s back at the camp, feet buried in the mud and men hurdling all over. He’s back where Peggy is, and Bucky and the whole Howling commando. He can smell the earth and the rain, feel the thick and scratchy fabric of the army kaki blankets. He hears the engine of trucks going in and out of camp, tasting the unpalatable soup from the canteen.

“It’s good to see you” she says with a grin, breaking the silence Steve has imposed with his processing thoughts. Indeed he has quite a lot and all of them start with how or why. But for the life of him he can’t choose one to begin with.

“Good to see you too. Serum?” He feels dumb to have said it like this with no proper sentence and no regards to manners whatsoever. But Abby doesn’t seem to mind and answers casually, with a slight shrug and a smirk “Bombshell and acid, actually.”

The words wander around Steve’s mind for a while, struggling to find coherent meaning. I mean, I  _ know  _ what bombshell and acid are, Steve thinks, eyes lost in the wilderness but what  _ is  _ ‘bombshell and acid’, what does it mean?

“I know, it’s very comic book-y and what-have-you but hey, do you know how much gray hair I have? None! Not bad for an eighty-five year-old gal, innit?” She laughs at her own jest the way  he remembered her always doing and that brings a smile to Steve’s face.

“I can relate to that.” he answers with a knowing look.

Abby leads Steve inside the café. As soon as she enters the somewhat crowded place, she spots an empty table at the far end, removed from the other table and from the windows. Perfect, she tells herself walking decisively through the staggered rows. She sits down with her back against the wall and facing the doors. She’s in control of her surroundings and indubitably feels safer that way. Her fingers stiffen, refusing to move anymore.

“You’re alright?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow in concern.

“Peachy. I just wasn’t very careful at work yesterday.” Or ever, she adds for herself as she forces her hands to close and open to get rid of the ache around her knuckles.

A green-haired professionally chirpy young man approaches their table to see if they are ready to order. Despite the casualness she displays, a light hearty laugh and smiley eyes accompanied by a few jokes to make the waiter at ease, Abby is tense. She has changed, Steve notices now that shock and surprise have passed and that she can’t distract him from seeing the details that give her away. He sees the lean muscles roll under her tight deep purple shirt when she moves her arms, and how her jaws shuts, teeth gritting when she stops talking. One of her hands rests on the table, her thumb brushing the handle of a silver knife. Then, Steve feels an almost imperceptible yet present shake most likely from Abby jiggling her leg under the table.

As the waiter leaves, their order duly noted in his brain, Steve notices another shift. It’s barely there but it’s there. A shadow clouds her gaze for only half a second or there is the ghost of twitch at the corner of her lips. Now that he has seen the changes, he can’t not unsee them. He can’t pretend all is well.

“So,” Steve engages, “here we are.”

“Here we are.” She nods.

“Two relics from the past looking brand new. Some would call us fossils.” He adds thinking fondly of Natasha who can’t help herself from remembering him of how old he actually is. “I doubt you’re still working for postal services.”

Abby snorts. “No, MI9 shut down in 45. I got transferred after that.” She pauses as the waiter comes back with freshly brewed coffee then leaves again to go and fetch their plates. “Now tell me what have you been up to since you defrosted? Despite saving the world that is.”

A smile enlightens Steve’s face.

“Not much.” He says with a shrug. “Oh, I’m actually living in D.C now.”

“Amongst suits and ties?! Never thought you’d leave your hometown since you always talked about your days in Brooklyn with such…endearment.” Indeed, she remembers how Steve used to talk about his life in Brooklyn alongside his square-jaw, dreamy eyes, forever pal, Bucky Barnes. When reunited they would laugh – often at each other’s expense – and have nothing but Brooklyn as their home. But now that Bucky is no longer here…

“Well, things have changed.” Steve says turning over the windows.

Abby absently follows the curves and lines of her knife, watching without seeing the reflection of her finger on the silverware. “Tell me about it.”

Steve chuckles under his breath. None of them bear the marks of time they should bear so it would be easy saying they have not changed when in fact, they both have been through indubitable alterations.

The conversation dies, which could make most situations very awkward. For two people who haven’t seen each other in over six decades, silence sure knows how to invite itself. But neither Steve nor Abby mind it. In fact they embrace it as it gives them time to reflect and ponder. They used to stand alongside one another more by force of habits than because they were particularly close. In fact, Steve hasn’t spared so much of a thought regarding Abby since he came back. So when the day came when she reached out to him, he made sure to indulge in his guilt. In his mind, Steve apologized over a thousand times and his intention was – until he saw her as out of time as he is – to do it profoundly and as much as need be.

The waiter arrives with their plates and even if Abby digs in quite happily, her shoulders as well as the back of her neck are consistently in tension. She doesn’t chew her food but grinds it while her eyes often glance over and beyond Steve’s frame, scanning the crowd and taking notice of everyone coming through the doors. She even, from time to time, clenches her fist tighter around the handles of her knife and fork, as if she is ready to throw them across the room and make an escape. 

He sees a bit of Natasha in the way she remains always aware of her surroundings, never letting her guard down. No. He sees a  _ lot  _ of Nat in Peggy’s young cousin.

“How long you been working for the secret services?” He asks, chewing with a smirk that purses his lips.

Abby coughs in her napkin. She coughs until her lungs hurt but at least she doesn’t say anything that might incriminate her even more. Steve Roger has in less than fifteen minutes, unravelled a life more or less carefully spent under the radar. “Shit.” She curses half impressed by him and half mad at herself for having been so careless. “Listen, I’m not supposed to be here. Hell, I’m not even supposed to be  _ alive _ , so if this can stay between us, I’d appreciate.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, an eyebrow raised in question. “There’s a whole story here.” He says, waiting to hear more about it.

“There is, yes.” Abby sips her coffee doing her best to avoid Steve’s inquisitive gaze though she can feel it scrutinizing her every micro expressions. “Why don’t  _ you _ start. You saved the world a few times since you got back, that’s something worth telling, innit?”

“Not like the story involving you and bombshell and acid.”

“Right. The story of my first death.” she laughs casually.

“So you died. More than once?” He asks her, as he resumes eating.

“Twice actually.”

Steve coughs in his sleeve. Well, that is something else, he thinks to himself. He has come across a few odd things both as Steve Rogers and Captain America but that is, well, something else.

“So bombshell and acid the first time around and Gunshot the second time?” 

“A harpoon actually.”

“A harpoon?” He says in complete disbelief. “Who still uses harpoons except for some fishermen?”

“I don’t know! There I was minding my own business and kicking ass when this dude comes from behind and harpoons me. Went right through my stomach, taking everything out with the pointy end.” She pauses, staring at a pale white, almost sick to his stomach Steve, that has stopped mid-chewing. “Sorry.” Sometimes she forgets how gruesome her life and deaths can be. Not that she talks about it that often but the few times she does, or think about it, she tends to dwell on the not-so-pretty details.

“So you died, and you came back. Twice.”

“Correct.”

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

They stare into the void, silence settling once more between them. 

“How did Peggy take it? I remember her not so keen on letting you go out in the field so I don’t suppose she’s okay with whatever it is you do.”

“Oh God she doesn’t know! I told you I’m not supposed to be alive.” She says bending toward him, the sleeve of her shirt just an inch above the poached eggs she ordered.

“Wait, you’re telling me that she thinks you’re dead?” Steve asks, already fuming on the inside. “And you’re seriously okay with that?”

“A gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do, brother.” She shrugs when a sharp pain takes over her calves. The muscles stiffen while a bruise reappears and spreads over her skin. Oh bloody hell. She feels like banging her head against the table just to get rid of that sudden burst of pain.

“How could you do this to her? Since when are you supposed to be dead to her?”

Abby shrugs “Dunno, four, maybe five... Decades.” She admits.

Steve says nothing. Not a word and not even a glance is spared for her. Abby is about to wish for him to yell and slap the table with his hand. It will be better than just this heavy mute response he is giving her. But all Steve does is staring at the table, gritting his teeth as he holds his mug halfway to his mouth. “This isn’t fair Abby.” he finally says, sipping his hot beverage. “This isn’t fair to Peggy.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Abby grunts. “I’m no saint like you alright?”

“It’s not about being a saint. It’s about being a decent human being.”

“Oh like when you chose to crash into the freezing water?”

“That was different.”

“Of course it was. It’s always different for you guys.”

“At least I never lied to her. She was there when I… Peggy was  _ there _ . She knew.” He says, repressing the birth of tears. “You owe her the truth.”

“I owe her shit!” She spits, digging her nails in the soft flesh of her palms. She wants to pinch herself until her skin reddens and dreams of tearing it apart until she sees the muscles underneath, veins and nerves asking to be cut.  _ “When you begin to crave for pain, that’s when you know you’ve gone too far.” Her doctor had told her as she administered Abby a heavy dose of stabilizer. “Just do a better job fixing me, then.” Abby had replied in snide. “There’s so much I can do. Everyone’s got an expiration date and yours is long overdue.” She had said in resignation. _

“I gotta go.” Abby says already standing up. Then a hand, Steve’s hand lands on her wrist. It is not a violent gesture. It’s a simple touch, soft and warm, meant to be reassuring, soothing even. But Abby is incapable of sensing any of that. Her brain has switched to defense mode allowing her only to react as the knife she’s holding only an inch from Steve’s flesh proves it.

Her mind red-alert rings as all of her well-shaped instincts tell her to stab him. If there’s a threat she’s trained to act accordingly.

“Please don’t.” He begs with pleading eyes and the ghost of a gentle smile, and somehow she understands that he is not so much concerned by the knife but by the fact she’s about to leave. Softly, gently, Steve withdraws his hand, careful not to make any sudden move. As soon as she’s free, Abby brushes her wrist on her pants, then pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt down, covering half her hands.

“I don’t like being touched.” She says in a way of explanation.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

She mumbles for herself, sitting down again and crosses her arms on her chest, looking more like a pouting little girl than an ageless spy with a death wish and anger management issues. 

She bits her tongue, almost chewing it, her teeth piercing the thick pink flesh. Stop it, she orders herself with a voice that doesn’t exactly sound like her own. “Stop it or you’ll get holes in it”. The voice has morphed into Peggy’s which is not the first time it happens. “Stop it. You should be taking care of yourself.” It is as if she can actually hear her cousin, as if she’s here, in the café with her. Although, as she looks around, Abby realizes that she’s no longer with Steve seating at a quiet table. Instead, she’s sat on a military bed, under a brown tent, fifteen-years old and sulking as she’s forced to another lecture from Peggy Carter.

_ “This isn’t fair and you know it.” Peggy claims, fists on her hips. _

_ “What isn’t fair is _ you  _ acting like you’re my goddamn mum. You know I can do half as well as any of these old chumps out there.” _

_ “You can do  _ twice  _ better than  _ any  _ of them, but that’s not what this is about Abby. This is war.” she says in a breath. “An actual war, where people die  _ every  _ day. You want to do your part and I _ get _ it. I do. I understand it better than you think but I can’t risk your life just because you want to prove yourself, alright? You’re fifteen. No one in their right mind would let a fifteen-year-old girl out in the field.” _

_ “Why not? No one think twice about sending boys with barely two pubes on their chins, so why not let a fifteen-year-old do the job as well?” _

_ “Because that’s not how it works, okay? That’s not how any of it works. And – and beside, you’re too young, too hot headed…” _

_ Peggy pinches the bridge of her nose, breathing slowly through it in order to keep calm though Abby is certainly challenging her ability to do so. Abby can feel her own temper rising and soon she won’t be able to control it. It’s been getting harder and harder to get it in check as she’s been perpetually asked to stay still and behind. It goes against her nature and her lack of discipline and self-control threatens her chance to remain by Peggy’s side. _

_ “Well, it’s my life.” Abby hisses crossing her arms on her chest, thinking this makes her more of a grown woman capable to decide for herself what’s best. _

_ “And it is precisely _ why _ I’ll do anything to preserve it. It is a _ good job,  _ Abby. It is safe and you’ll do great. MI9 allows you to put in the effort, to participate without sending you to your death.” _

_ “Bull-crap. You just want me gone, like mum and dad.” Abby smacks the table and leaves the tent.  _ What happened next is but a blur. It was not their last argument, far from it. But it is one that keeps haunting her and crawling with regrets.

“Abby.” Steve’s voice calls her out of her daydream.

“Sorry. It’s turning into a habit.” she apologizes. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing.”

“Hm.” It takes time to get rid of ghosts, and Peggy’s has been haunting her more and more these days. She doubts she would be more disturbed if her cousin was actually dead. Being haunted by the living feels like a sham.

“Anything else for you?” Asks the green-haired waiter as he returns after they are done with their plate. How long has he been standing there? Abby asks herself dumbly blinking.

“Erm – whatever you have loaded with sugar will be lovely.” Abby manages to smile convincingly enough to pretend she’s been present all along and not wandering about her tortured mind. Steve gives the waiter a polite nod “I’m good, thanks.”

“Watching your figure?” Abby asks in good spirit.

Steve chuckles. “Nah.”

“Blessed be the serum!” Abby raises her coffee mug to which Steve answers with a sharp laugh. The mood certainly lightens until Abby asks out of the blue “You seen her?” 

“I have, yes.” Steve answers. His conscience is clear towards Peggy. He doesn’t dwell on the past and has gotten rid of regrets for they only rot the mind and heart. He simply wishes he will have more opportunities to spend time with her before she... At least, he gets to spend  _ some  _ time with her and for that, he is thankful.

Abby glances over Steve’s shoulder but this time she doesn’t see what’s out there. She is blind to the people that come and go, deaf to the surrounding noise, too caught up in her emotions to care that she is becoming an easy target. Toughen up Abernathy! Her knees tremble under the table, and the pain in her stomach begins to wake up as well. She shuts her eyes, perhaps for too long which raises Steve’s suspicion. 

“Well, I’m sure she’s an old broad complaining about the good old days.” She brushes off.

“And when were they, these good old days exactly? Because  _ I _ didn’t get the memo.”

Steve’s humour is a welcome distraction Abby is unable to take advantage of. She’s drawn to the memory of Peggy and to what Abby missed by being officially dead for all those years. She is compelled to make Steve as miserable as she is because  _ he _ got to rest and avoid the pain for a long time. It’s not fair, she tells herself, he had his share of trouble and pain. Despite not wanting to hurt him, Abby choses the one topic that might open a very fresh wound. “She’s had a good life you know. After you went all…” Abby whistles between her teeth mimicking the crash of a plane “She managed, and she really pulled through. Nobody but her could do what she’s done. I erm... I envy her somehow.” 

“We all do.” Steve admits gladly. “I’m glad she got to enjoy her life you know. She is an exceptional woman.”

“D’you think she could still kick my ass? Even now?”

“Last time I went to see her, I noticed crutches near her bed, so all bets are off.”

“Ah! Yeah, wouldn’t be wise picking up a fight with her, would it?”

“To be fair, it’s never wise to pick up a fight with Peggy Carter. I should know.” He says sipping his coffee with a knowing smirk. 

“That is true.” She admits with a sharp laugh that surprises herself.

“You should go see her.”

“And tell her what? ‘Hiya dear old bird, look who’s been alive all this time! I’ve been doing  _ exactly _ what you didn’t want me to do and yes, you were right : I got myself killed. Twice.’ Nah, don’t think so.”

There’s always a choice to make when one is being tantalized. Either you take the bait and dive in head first or you ponder and maybe give yourself enough time and energy to withdraw from the fight before the battle even begins. Ever since they met outside the café, silence has played an important role in their conversation and one can think that Steve has learned how to use it to his advantage. However, in hearing Abby’s stubborn refusal, Steve’s conscience leaves him no other choice but to ignore the possibility of being quiet and without a plan, so he simply attacks.

“You can’t keep running forever.”

“I’ll let you know that I’m an  _ excellent _ runner. Barely draw a sweat. Ever.”

“She’s not going to be around that much longer.” Stating the obvious has never bothered him, not that much anyway so why today should be any different?

“Fine. I’ll stop running when she’s gone then.”

“You don’t mean that.” Steve says locking eyes with her. “She’s not well Abby, and she’s not getting better. You might never get a second chance. I thought I'd lost mine when I woke up. But, man was I glad to have it. You should go and make your peace with her before it’s too late. It’s what you both deserve and I can’t see a reason why you wouldn't.”

Abby looks away refusing to let his words sink in.

“I’m not like you Steve. I’m not seeking some kind of redemption, okay. I did what I did, for the reasons I’ve had and I made my peace with it.”

“You sure about that?” He says, knowing that it might ignite a fire. He’s seen Abby during her tantrums and he’s pitied those standing on her way, carefully managing to escape the worst of it since he has known her. 

Abby glares at him. Now the idea of stabbing him seems like a good one but the silverware has gone and killing someone with a spoon is tedious at best. So she glares, and chews whatever the waiter has brought her. The sugar lays on her tongue, heavy and sweet, and the butter is nothing but the promise of a life without any worry. It tastes like a dream, a fantastic daydream. She nearly never tasted something  _ that  _ good despite her traveling the globe for decades.

“You know,” she says with a full mouth, “it’s funny because I’ve been in jeopardy countless times. I mean, I’ve seen and done things that would give any sociopath nightmares and  _ yet,  _ yet, I’m still scared of my cousin who is basically holding hands with death. This doesn’t make  _ any  _ sense.” And as she swallows the last bite of perfect sweetness, tears come rushing down her face. She’s been led to believe that she’s lost her ability to cry after her first death. Yet, here she is, sitting in a noisy café, with her cheeks red and wet. All of her training gone in a handful of seconds. What she has forced herself to be for the past decades, in ruin. Like the colossus of Rhodes, Abernathy Carter has crumbled.

She wishes for Steve to reach for her across the table, but she made sure he never tries to touch her again. Damned. She’s got only herself to blame for it. In order to survive, she built a thick, impenetrable, brick wall from which she is now a prisoner. Nobody gets in, but no one gets out either.

Abby erases the tears with the back of her hand, trying to pretend they were never here in the first place, though she is aware Steve must have seen them.

“When I found out she was alive,” he says in a calm and soothing voice devoid of any judgement, “I thought I could never bring myself to go and see her. But the more I waited, the more I thought about her and the more I felt guilty. I thought that I had lost everyone. Hell, I _ did  _ lose everyone. But it turns out I was wrong. Peggy was still here. She  _ is  _ still here.”

“Well, you’re braver than I could ever hope to be.”

Steve scoffs. “You’ve got moxie. You’re scared, I get it. I was scared too.”

“You? Bloody Captain America is afraid? Yeah, sure!”

“I swear I am... sometimes.” He says with a playful grin. Serum or no serum, Steve has always stood up, always fought, whereas Abby has given up and, to her own shame, she admits that she did it rather easily. However she’s thankful for his earnest confession. 

“Bucky’s alive.” He whispers making sure no one but Abby hears him.

“Is he now?” She answers without apparent care or interest. Her gaze floats over the reflection of the light on her spoon, anxious to see the conversation move on.

“You don’t seem very surprised.” Steve’s state of vexation overcomes him to the point where anger takes the wheel. It takes him a lot of self control not to show how betrayed he really is, to stay the strong and steady captain he’s supposed to be. 

“Should I be?” She asks point blank. “I mean there’s been rumors for quite some time, though I don’t know how many people have connected the dots yet. But when you get to be around as long as I have, you tend to become quite blasé. Surprises are overrated, especially in my line of work.” She stops to lick the powdered sugar off the tip of her finger. “Is this why you keep pestering me about Peggy? Because of your own unfinished business with Bucky?”

Steve exhales a laugh.

“It’s more ongoing than unfinished.” He lets on, studying her reaction. But Abby’s face remains stoic. There is no tension, no twitch. Nothing. “And you know about that too.” 

“As I said…line of work and all that.”

“Then why haven’t you done anything to stop him?”

“Not my job.” She says looking desperately at her empty plate.

“And what  _ is  _ your job exactly. If MI whatever-the-number has known for that long about Bucky, why did no one do anything?”

“I just told you there have been some rumors. I never said anyone knew anything.”

“But  _ you did _ . You knew all along didn’t ya?”

Abby shrugs which infuriates Steve to the point he bangs his hand on the table. It’s been months since he lost Bucky’s trail. Months of scraps, and dead ends and shattered hopes. Months of feeling impossibly alone and lost in desperation, despite Sam’s help. He wakes up at night drenched in fear of never finding him again, of having gone too far and that chasing Bucky is nothing but a fool’s errand. No matter the cost or the consequences, Steve is unable to stop and sometimes that scares him.

Abby remains quiet and perfectly still. She doesn’t even blink, barely moves her chest as she silently breathes. She could have been a lifelike statue if he hadn’t talked to her just a second before.

“Look,” Abby says leaning toward him, locking the outside world so only Steve and her remain. “Put yourself in our shoes for a minute. While you were down being the cutest ice cube there is, shit continued to hit the fan  _ every _ day. And quite frankly, at first, no one cared about the Winter Soldier. Then he became some sort of urban legend, a tale we told the newbies to scare them off their skins. I…I don’t know how to explain it but erm – he wasn’t first priority. Everyone had their own plate full of mercenaries and sneaky super killers. He kind of blended in actually.”

“He may have not been first priority,” he quotes Abby, slightly mocking her, “but you eventually found out. You could have done something or at least go tell your superiors.” 

“My superiors?” She sniggers. “I’d be rather dead than tell them anything of that magnitude if I don’t have to. I do what I do because I  _ owe _ them. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them and that makes me their bitch. They whistle. I bark. Simple as that. But any chance I get, I do wrinkle their shirt best I can without having my arse sent back to hell. I  _ couldn’t _ do anything, okay? There was no one to trust. There still isn’t. I’m sorry but… Only  _ you _ get to save the squire in distress. With HYDRA really down and S.H.I.E.L.D…pfff whatever S.H.I.E.L.D is now, you’re free.”

“Free uh? It doesn’t feel like freedom to me.”

“Well, unattached then. There’s no one else, Steve. Only you.”

“You could help.” Steve suggests raising an eyebrow, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Right!” Abby dismisses with a short laugh, “My leash’s not that long.”

***

Steve and Abby exit the café when Steve informs her he still has a couple of hours before he leaves town.

“We can stroll around.” Abby suggests. Steve gladly accepts her offer and the two of them begin their walk. 

They talk about anything and everything, circling around the most important topics none of them want to address, and sometimes they just settle in a blissful and contemplative silence. Withoutrealizing it Abby slides her hand in Steve’s, who answers the unexpected gesture with a gentle and timid squeeze. The warmth coming from his palm and fingers is all the comfort she’s been seeking and gravely deprived from.

They go on walking aimlessly streets after streets, until they reach a part of town Abby knows more than well. A part of town she always carefully avoids.

She stops, eyeing the building she passed by on many occasions without bringing herself to go in. Not even once. 

She alway knew where Peggy had been living at all time. Keeping track of her from afar was her way to not completely lose herself into work, not to drown into oblivion, especially after her second death. Under the cover of shadows, Abby witnessed Peggy going down the aisle, showering the crowd with her smile. Watched over her cousin’s children, wishing she could be there for Christmases and birthdays, being something along the line of the cool aunty. But she never dared enter in contact with any of them. Although she had been  _ this _ close to working with Peggy’s niece Sharon once, which would have been really awkward.

“It’s ok.” Steve says in a breath. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

“And what about your sanctimonious speech earlier then?”

Steve lowers his head but a satisfied grin is definitely present on his face.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” Abby asks, her voice trembling like one of a little girl.

Steve remains quiet, searching for the right answer to give her. He has no idea how Peggy will react upon seeing her young cousin, not only alive but just a few years older than the last time she’s seen her. It can go either way. There is no telling but he isn't one to feed her lies.

“She hasn’t kicked me out.” Steve says earnestly.

“Right. And you owed her a dance. Which is far,  _ far _ worse. No one ever dared standing Peggy up before. And no one did after either.” Abby snorts unconvincingly.

“As much as I’d love Peggy to live forever, this might be your last ch…” Steve is silenced by Abby’s finger on his mouth while she’s shushing him.

“Just. Don’t. For once. Don’t be all goody-goody Captain America okay? I… It’s…erm...” What’s the point with talking when words don’t even make sense, she thinks feeling a tight knot in her stomach. “Will you go with me?” She asks, turning to Steve with big round pleading eyes.

For a moment Steve is tempted to say yes. He was alone when he first visited Peggy and he remembers the crippling fear, the rising nausea as he entered the building and went to Peggy’s door. But it was something he had to do alone. And for some reason, perhaps because they are more alike than he previously thought, Steve believes that Abby should go in by herself as well.

“Right. Not your war this one, innit?” she says in defeat.

“I’m not suited up for this.” He gently smiles. “But I’ll be here when you get back. And we’ll get you something loaded with sugar.” He winks at her and allows himself to give her a small nudge to which she answers with a nervous laugh.

“Fine. Coward.” She sighs as she turns to face the entrance. “Here goes nothing I guess.” Abby pulls at the sleeve of her jumper and begins walking decisively towards the building.

There it is. Peggy’s door and behind it, who knows? I never go unprepared. No, that’s not true. I always go with half a plan and hope not to die. Again. Third time might be the charm, she muses. Might as well go in full glory, killed by the righteous wrath of dear old Peggy. And with that thought in mind, fear lodged in her heart, Abby knocks lightly on the door, praying no one is there to answer. But a voice, her voice, Peggy’s voice, shatters all of her coward faith.

“Yes?”

* * *

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Steve says, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black pants. “I didn’t see you in there.”

“Churches give me the creeps.” Abby answers, dipping the top of her shoe in the mud. “How are you holding up?”

Steve shrugs. It’s too complicated to be put in simple words and yet, the situation is rather simple. Peggy’s dead. Nothing complicated about that. And yet.

“Right. I – erm – have something for you. I know you’ve been struggling and perhaps it’s already outdated but that’s all I got. Here.” She says pushing a brown envelope in Steve’s hands. 

Steve looks at it though there is nothing particular to see on it. It is just an envelope. A blank one. In fact the envelope in itself doesn’t matter. What does is what lies within and somehow Steve can guess what this is about.

“Won’t you get too much trouble for this?”

“Nah, I’ll burn that bridge when I’ll get to it.”

“Don’t you mean ‘cross the bridge?’”

“I know what I said.” She smirks at him, starting to walk backwards.

“Where are you going?” 

“Third stop on Death Lane. Or getting a coffee. Haven’t made up my mind yet.” Abby shrugs and gets further away. “Give him a peck for me, will ya?”

Steve chuckles, and lowers his head to gaze at the envelope, his cheeks red as a poppy. “You take care okay?” But as he looks up again, Steve notices that Abernathy Carter is already out of sight. Just as she had suddenly burst back into his life, she is now gone. 

The unsealed envelope calls for his fingers to open it. And so he does, controlling his eagerness and the beating of his heart’s rampage the best he can. Inside is a note scribbled on a yellow post-it saying “Suit up!” And below that note a line of coordinates. The bright yellow post-it is stuck to a picture. 

If he wasn’t him, Steve’s fingers would have trembled as he lifts the note up to get a good look at the picture. The contour of a cap is in the foreground and underneath, barely concealed by shadows and long strands of black hair, the lines of a nose and mouth Steve knows all too well. It’s only when his eyes fall on the square jaw that Steve allows himself to breathe.

“What’s this?” Sam asks, peering above Steve’s shoulder. “Uh!” He says as he sees the picture of Bucky Barnes in Steve’s hand. “OK. So, where to now Captain?”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Truth time : this is my first ever Captain America fic EVER and I couldn't be more scared! I've always gravitate around this particular fandom, only consuming it. But now, things have changed, and I'd like to thank my brain for coming up with this XD 
> 
> No, really I'd like to thank the fantastic, the incredible, the one-in-a-million @Cam_elot for :  
> 1) her constant support and affection  
> 2) her amazing work (go, go read it if you haven't!)  
> 4) not killing me while doing the beta of this fic. Love you brae 💛
> 
> -W

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover art] We need to talk about Peggy (and Bucky)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483620) by [Cam_elot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cam_elot/pseuds/Cam_elot)




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